


A Dysfunctional Family Christmas

by LeannieBananie



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, Drug Use, F/M, Gen, Gift Giving, One Shot, Recreational Drug Use, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 08:18:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5532308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeannieBananie/pseuds/LeannieBananie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fallout 4 Christmas Party, with gift giving and a little fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Dysfunctional Family Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if anyone seems OOC and I know I left some companions out (sorry, not sorry). I don't have them all or don't travel with them, because I'm a terrible person.
> 
> And I know I've been all over the place writing wise, but this would not leave my head and it's Christmas so yeah. And I know it's rough as hell, but oh well! It's loosely inspired by Montgomery Gentry's "Merry Christmas From the Family," because there is no way they didn't get drunk and cause shenanigans.
> 
> Love me some kudos and comments and if you see any mistakes give me a shout out.

Jo had no idea where MacCready had procured the Christmas lights from and she wasn’t dumb enough to ask. Instead she grinned up at the battered green strand, its multi-colored lights twinkling brightly and adding a festive, pre-war flare to the Castle. 

“What do you think Madame?” Curie asked politely, tucking an empty box under the table that was laden with food. “It is quite pretty.” Jo surveyed the rest of the room, eyes lingering on the tarberries that dangled over the entryway instead of mistletoe and the wreaths Nick had cleverly fashioned from hub flowers. There was a scrawny shrub brush in the corner decorated with another strand of Christmas lights and shiny odds and ends. It was mostly junk, bits of copper and used shotgun shells strung together on twine, and a jet inhaler that had to have been Hancock’s doing. The air smelled of spiced wine, warm foods, and Nick’s cigarettes, but it was comforting and homey, a scent you wanted to carry around with you forever. The cold stone walls seemed warmer and in this little chamber, over the Christmas carols playing on the DCR station, there was a cheerful buzz of conversation and camaraderie. She took a sip of the mulled wine that Deacon had made, the hot liquid warming her and mixing pleasantly with the med-x she had shot up with Hancock earlier and smiled at Curie, who still waited patiently for her answer. 

“It is isn’t it?” She cast her eyes over her friends –no, her family– and sighed in contentment. “It really is.” 

Never in her wildest dreams would she have imagined herself here, in a damp castle that smelled like sea and mirelurk, with these people around her. They were odd, loud, and scruffy, and sometimes they smelled, but somewhere along the line they had become her family, dysfunctional though they were. Having this ragtag bunch at her back was more comforting than she would expect, especially with so many strong personalities squeezed into one surprisingly small castle. Jo loved these assholes, even though they drove her crazy with their squabbles, but right now instead of mediating she got to drink copious amounts of wine and watch the Christmas mischief unfold from her perch in the corner. 

Preston was currently bickering with Piper over the arrangement of gifts; he would place one on the table, placing it perfectly and then as soon as his back was turned Piper would move it. Maybe Preston couldn’t see it, seeing as he was the shy type, but Piper’s eyes lingered on his broad shoulders and ass when he turned away. Jo believed that Piper was going to have to make the first move and contemplated giving her a little push, but decided against it, because she didn’t want to move. Besides, the night was young and booze was flowing freely, so maybe with a little liquid courage one of them would do something about their mutual attraction. 

Next to the gift table sat Deacon and MacCready. She had managed to pry Deacon away from Railroad HQ and she chuckled to see him bullshitting with MacCready, the two of them downing beers like water, then lobbing the caps at the back of Danse’s head. 

Danse glared at them and scolded them sternly for acting like children. They immediately stopped and tried to act innocent, snickering into their hands and struggling to keep their faces straight, but as soon as he returned to his quiet conversation with Nick they started tossing the caps again. And Nick, dear Nick. He puffed on his cigarette and talked earnestly with Danse, earning him a smile that few saw. Danse was too serious for his own good and she was happy to see him relaxing, and with a synth no less. He was even out of his power armor and in civilians. Nick caught her eye and smiled at her, tipping his battered hat in her direction. She felt an intense swell of love, watching them move around each other and banter jokingly, all disagreements from the past months momentarily forgotten. Well, except for Hancock and Danse. 

Hancock entered the room and gave the Brotherhood Paladin a wide birth, Dogmeat trotting along close to his heels. She should have felt a little betrayed that the dog had taken to him so well. He split his time between the two of them when they were at the Castle, but always slept with her at night, curled into a tight ball behind her bent legs. She also should have felt betrayed by her heart, which gave a sudden lurch at the sight of her favorite mayor. He walked around the perimeter of the room, deftly palming the jet from the Christmas shrub and strolling towards her a small, lazy smile on his face. He was most definitely high, not that she had any room to talk. He sat in the chair next to her, Dogmeat curling up over their feet. 

“You doing alright sister?” She slumped against him, sloshing wine over the rim of her coffee cup and dropping her head onto his shoulder. 

“Perfect. This is perfect.” 

“I bet it is.” He teased quietly, hooking his arm over her shoulders. Jo felt Preston’s disapproving eyes on them and almost pulled away, but she felt rather than saw Hancock shake his head. 

“Don’t worry about it, Gravey’s just a wet blanket.” She scowled up at him, but sank back into his half embrace. 

“Hey, he’s a good guy. The best.” 

“No one’s arguing that, but sometimes he’s got as big a stick up as his ass as the walking tin-can.”

“Hancock, be nice!” She admonished. “It’s fucking Christmas, we’re supposed to be getting along. And besides, Danse can’t help it.” He guffawed and gently took her cup out of her hand, raising it to his lips and taking a drink. 

“Jo, be nice!” He mocked, returning the mug with a grin, staring down at her with glazed over eyes that were black as sin, but warmer than the wine in her hands. He confused the hell out of her. Sober, it made her nervous and unsure, but high, it felt right. It felt fucking perfect. He was a good person, no matter what he said and when he looked at her he made her feel things that she hadn’t felt in over 200 years. Which was why now, she was watching everything in a haze of med-x and wine and cuddling with him, reminding herself that they were friends, because touching him was overwhelming all her good intentions and common sense. 

“Hey you three! It’s time for presents.” MacCready called, tossing a bottle cap into the folds of Hancock’s tricorn with surprising accuracy for someone twelve beers in. They untangled themselves and rose unsteadily, moving towards the gifts where everyone else had congregated as Piper began handing out presents. 

Piper held up a flat, rectangular package wrapped in plain brown paper and read the scrawled writing. 

“To Curie, from Jo.” Curie took it gently and delicately unwrapped the object, letting out a soft gasp at the shabby of a pre-war medical text book in her hands. The edges were slightly burnt, but she cradled it like a mother would a child and smiled happily at Jo. 

“It is lovely, thank you Madame. This makes me feel things that are so confusing.” She admitted in frustration, returning her gaze to the book in her lap. 

“I’m glad you like it Curie, you’re welcome.” 

“Do mine next!” Deacon shouted. “It’s the grubby one on the end.” Piper obligingly fished out the package and tossed it to its recipient, MacCready. He ripped off the greasy paper and let out an excited exclamation. 

“Nice!” In his hands he held a new sniper rifle scope, obviously high-tech and of Tinker Tom’s invention, but Jo didn’t say anything about it, knowing how Danse hated the Railroad on principle. “Thanks man.” Deacon waved off his thanks. 

“It was nothing.” 

And so the gift giving went on; Nick was gifted a beautiful gold plated lighter from Curie, Piper an impressive, working Carlisle typewriter from Nick, Deacon got a new pair of aviator style sunglasses from MacCready, Preston blushingly received a soft, hand knit scarf from Piper, and MacCready got Danse several new mods for his power armor. Jo received a box of shot gun shells and a variety box of grenades that everyone had pitched in for, knowing her slightly unhealthy obsession with the explosives. And everyone laughed when Preston presented Dogmeat with a radstag bone covered in meat. The dog took it delicately, then bolted from the room with his gift clutched in his jaws. 

“Only one present left, wonder who it’s for?” Piper teased, lifting the puffy, square package and handing it to Hancock, who looked surprised. Jo knew whose handwriting was on it and avoided his eyes when he looked at her. She occupied herself with her mug of wine, savoring the dregs as best she could, but she couldn’t ignore the sound of tearing paper or the loud silence that followed. 

“That’s awesome Jo!” Piper blurted and Jo heard several other appreciative murmurs from the group. 

“I don’t know what to say.” At Hancock’s voice she finally looked up and found him staring at the red coat he held. It was an exact image of the tattered one he wore, but undoubtedly finer and interwoven with ballistic weave fiber to offer maximum protection since the fool refused to wear armor, saying it ruined the line of his jacket. 

“Its ballistic weave.” Jo offered quietly. She felt unaccountably shy and his reaction was inexplicably important to her. Immediately Hancock stood up and shed his old beloved jacket, carelessly letting it fall to the ground. He pulled on the new one and smiled at her, black eyes harder to read than ever. Deacon broke the moment their eyes were having by saying, 

“That’s bad ass.” 

“Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome.” The jacket fit him perfectly and seeing it cling to his wiry frame made Jo realize that it was far more intimate than intended. It betrayed some of the feelings –the protectiveness– she felt for him. It left her exposed to the prying eyes of her companions. While everyone was distracted by their presents, Jo slipped out, ducking under the tarberry-mistletoe and into the night. 

She was sitting on the castle wall, legs dangle above the sea when Hancock joined her. He silently handed her another mug of wine and settled down next to her. His right leg pressed against hers and he bumped her shoulder with his. 

“Thank you for the jacket Jo.” Her name on his lips was addicting and she wanted to hear it again, but instead she answered, 

“You already said that, but you’re welcome.” Out of the corner of her eye she saw him dig into his hip pocket and pull out a little black box. His expression was hesitant and guarded when he held it out to her and mumbled. 

“It’s for you.” It hadn’t bothered her that he hadn’t given her a gift, but seeing the unassuming box in his gnarled hand made her feel excited. She took it and tried to hide her trembling fingers as she lifted the lid. Inside was a delicately wrought silver locket, engraved with wild roses and hanging from an impossibly thin chain. When she opened the locket it was empty inside, but Hancock explained quickly, 

“I didn’t know what to put it in, but this way you can do whatever you want.” Jo nodded wordlessly and ran a finger over the fine engraving, feeling the faint grooves under her finger. It was beautiful. Her eyes welled with unshed tears, but she didn’t even know why she was crying. 

Maybe because the entire night had been overwhelming. She had lost it all; her family and her life, and since waking up she had been trying to piece together her old life in the midst of this novel, chaotic one. And tonight she had realized that she didn’t need her old life back, that she might not even want it back, and that was both terrifying and freeing. It was game changing. She loved her new, messy existence with her loud, insane friends and while she wanted to know what had happened to Shaun, she couldn’t and _wouldn’t_ go back to her life before. She had different things to live for now and one of them was sitting right next to her. 

“You doing alright over there?” Hancock asked again, intruding on her earth-shattering self-realizations. She smiled tremulously up at him, letting out a teary laugh. 

“I’m fucking perfect.” He nodded and handed her a mentat before falling silent again, both of them listening to the sound of the waves over the chatter and music from the party. Jo leaned into his shoulder again, pressing her head against the rough fabric of his new coat. It already smelled like him. 

“Merry Christmas.” 

“And a happy fucking new year.”

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas and a Happy effing New Year!!!


End file.
